


You Don’t Have to Put on that Red Light

by WorkingChemistry



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce calls him a little boy tho bc homeless Jason tiny, Catboy AU, Community: dckinkmeme, DC kink meme fill, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, I’m sure I’m missing a tag so let me know and I’ll update, Jason Todd is a neko, Jason is pregnant, Mpreg, accidental adoption, its not stated but Jason is sixteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorkingChemistry/pseuds/WorkingChemistry
Summary: Gen fill for this prompt:Bruce finds a feral little catboy stealing his tyres. He tells himself he'll only feed him and bathe him then send him to a home.There's only one problem with that. When he takes off the boy's clothing, he sees that the boy is swollen with kittens even though he's not even 18 (personal preference for Jason to be at least 13). He couldn't just leave a pregnant cat to unknown owners, now could he?And that's the story of how Bruce adopted Jason, which could either work as a gen fill or BruJay.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 51
Kudos: 344
Collections: Gen Batfam ABO, Jason Todd Steals the Batmobile Tires





	You Don’t Have to Put on that Red Light

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue what I’m doing anymore, but this prompt was cute so I wanted to give it a shot. This is probably not the end, but we’ll see when I have time to add onto it. 
> 
> I picture this as a/b/o but I forgot to ask the prompter their pref so I just leave it open to interpretation. Also not stated, but Jason is half rag doll. 
> 
> Hope you’re all doing well, my lovelies!

Bruce isn’t particularly fond of Crime Alley. It’s not the dirt, or the crime even, it’s the memories. They were good memories for a brief moment, and then his world was… shattered is such a dramatic word, but Alfred says he’s a dramatic person. 

Still, once a year he returns to the spot to mourn them. It’s not a secret, once the paparazzi had found him and took pictures before the citizens of crime alley chased them off. He’d always wondered why he was left alone to mourn, but apparently it was some sort of unspoken rule. 

Sometimes, Bruce wishes he wasn’t left alone. 

He feels desperate for something, anything, to override the connotations etched into his mind. The splotches of color filling the potholes are oil slick on water, but even knowing that he still sees only blood. The gunshots, so close to his head, have never stopped ringing. Not even hearing loss dampened the tinnitus. 

The gaping alley stares back at him, making him feel more hollow than he has in a long time. His therapist said he shouldn’t do this. She was probably right. Still, Bruce knows he’ll make the trek back next year. 

Kneeling before the little shrine made by Gotham’s denizens, Bruce tries to dredge up a prayer. Instead he stares blankly at an old clipping from when he was eight and happy. He sets his single rose down among the candles and wilting flowers, photos and newspaper clippings. 

Then he stands and returns to his car. 

His car with no wheels. 

His very expensive car with no wheels that he has the money but not the energy to have towed. 

The culprit isn’t immediately visible. Bruce bends down to examine the side closest to him first. When he goes to confirm the same is true on the other side, he finds a small gremlin of a child hard at work. 

The speed is almost NASCAR levels of impressive. 

Or so Bruce assumes. He never really got into NASCAR. 

“Pardon me, but I’m afraid I need those.” Bruce is truly apologetic. The kid no doubt needs them more than he does. 

The kid in question starts and whips around quickly. The red hoodie covers most of his hair, but a few whisky black curls tumble down into his eyes. The tire iron clutched in front of him serves as a barrier and a warning. His Gotham asked is adorably thick. “Ain’t nobody asked you.” 

“Well, really, they shouldn’t have needed to.” Bruce is hyper aware of his own softer, almost British, accent and how it marks him as outsider. “They were mine to begin with, you see.”

“Mine now.” The kid hisses—physically makes a hissing noise, and draws back his arms. Too late, Bruce realized it’s to take a swing. 

The tire iron catches him in the ribs and he doubles over with the pain of it. 

“Try and catch me you big boob!” The boy, cat boy since no one else would hiss like that, makes a run for it. 

Bruce should probably let him go. His most recent spat with Dick has proven that he doesn’t make a good father. He’s not going to be keeping the little boy as a pet either, regardless of the law neko are as human as anyone else. 

And that’s why he has to follow. 

Bruce follows the little boy at a distance through the contorted labyrinth of streets. He’s not exactly inconspicuous, but he still knows how to go unnoticed. It helps that he dressed down in anticipation of the venue. 

The little boy climbs up the side of an abandoned hotel and squirms through a gap in a boarded up door. 

Bruce’s heart starts to crack at the sight. It’s obvious that the boy is homeless, so maybe he can pay to get his tires back and then put the boy up somewhere safe until he can find a family for him. 

He can’t scale the building, but he does find a mostly sturdy fire escape. The window that resides on the same floor as the boy is stuck shut, but Bruce smashes it without much trouble. Hopefully, with it being on the other side of the hotel, the boy doesn’t hear it and bolt. 

Rotting floorboards warp and groan under his weight. His foot smashes through one and he gets the splinters stuck in his ankles. When he leans against the wall to try and dig them out, he punches a hole through it. 

There’s no way he will be letting that child spend another night in this cesspit. 

He picks his way, carefully now, through the hotel. The latches on the doors all seem to be disabled; the wonders of electricity—or rather the lack of it. Regardless, it makes it easier to find the boy. It’s the only room that doesn’t open immediately when he lightly jiggles the knob.

A faint scuffle on the other side confirms that this is the right room.

He shoves it open, taking the brunt of it on his shoulder.

It’s quick enough that the boy is still mostly tangled in his nest. Clothing with too many holes to serve its initial purpose pads out the meager hollow made by a blanket. A woman’s tank top is tangled around his neck and he shakes it free as he lunges for the window.

“Wait!” Bruce says. He snags the back of the hoodie just in time. 

The boy stumbles backwards, the hood falling to reveal a puffy head of curls and small cat ears peeking out through them.”Lemme go. You cain’t prove nothin’.”

“I’m not trying to charge you with anything.” Bruce says. He wants to let go, to prove his good will, but he knows that if he does the kid is as good as gone. “I wanted to buy some tires.”

The boy squints over his shoulder at him, tiny fangs bared. It would appear that he’s given up his attempt at appearing human. The ears might have been explained away as a headband, if he managed to keep them still, but the lack of human ears is rather condemning. “Say I believe you. Why’d you wanna buy tires from me?”

“I have it on good authority you’ve managed to procure three identical to the one I have left on my car.” Bruce does his best to keep a straight face and pretend this is a business negotiation. 

“I might have such.” The boy says. He jerks free of Bruce’s hold and smooths down the rumpled fabric of his oversized red hoodie. One ear gives a prim twitch as the boy eyes him with the shrewd gaze of a haggler. “Say I do have ‘em. I wouldn’t be able to let them go for just anything. They’re very pricey, see.”

It’s too hard. Bruce has to give into his urge to chuckle. If he wasn’t sure it would offend the little scamp, he might even give a full belly laugh. He reigns his humor in and nods seriously. “Yes, yes. Of course. I understand.”

“Buuuuut…” The boy leans back on his heels, drawing the syllabus out like a professional. “I might be able to cut you a deal, seeing as you’re so down on your luck.”

“How kind of you.” 

“It is, isn’t it.” The kid gris, baring those wicked little fangs. They’re small, but Bruce has no doubt that they could draw blood. “So. Five hundred upfront, five hundred after I get them put on.’

“You’re willing to put them on?” That was an unexpected offer. He’d thought he was going to have to nearly force the issue of getting the boy out.

The little business man just nods and goes to put on his shoes. There are holes on the bottom, through which Bruce can see the means of repair is old cloth and cardboard.

He catches Bruce staring and his ears pull back to lay flat on his head. “Sorry, but we ain’t all livin’ the high life out here.” 

“I’m not judging.” Bruce murmurs, though he’s not really sure why, “I’m just sad.”

The boy’s eyes narrow, but he shrugs one shoulder. “I ain’t need the pity neither. C'mon. I stashed 'em this way.” 

Bruce manages two of the tires while Jason rolls one alongside him. The silence is companionable in a way that Bruce hasn’t known for a while. Alfred isn’t prone to emotional conversation, but he excels at small talk. Dick on the othe hand seems to have a deepest hatred for silence. More nights than not, he would find Dick talking to himself simply for the noise of it. 

This is nice. 

He tries to help the boy, Jason as it turns out, but is met with hard refusal. “No offense, but I don’t think You’d be much help. Plus, you’d get your nice clothes all mucked up.”

So Bruce is forced to watch as a small child puts his tires back on and then waits expectantly for his payment. He passes it over and then, before Jason can bolt, asks “Are you hungry?”

* * *

Convincing Jason to come to the manor had been a long and difficult road, but he somehow manages it. They have to stop back by Jason’s squat to gather up his things, all of which fit neatly into a pillowcase, then Bruce leaves Crime Alley behind for another year.

If Alfred is surprised to see Bruce bringing home another child, he doesn’t let it show. “Hello, Master Bruce. Shall I have another room made up?”

“Yes please, Alfred. This is Jason.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Master Jason. I’ll only be a moment.” Alfred gives a small bow and then leaves. 

Bruce glances down at Jason who eyes him suspiciously in return, hugging his pillow case tightly. “I, hmm. Well, I’ll show you around. The main bathroom on the first floor is this way.”

He’s fed the kid, he’ll get the kid a shower, and then in the morning he’ll call around to get the kid put into a nice foster home. The plan is foolproof. 

“I don’t know if you’d like to wash up, but I’m sure Alfred can find something for you to wear if you do.” Bruce prefaces as he pushes open the door. 

Jason’s blue-green eyes are saucer wide. The pillow case is dropped to the ground unceremoniously. He doesn’t respond, jerking his hoodie up over his head as he lunges for the large tub. 

“Ah, I’ll go and ask Alfred to—“ Bruce chokes on the lump in his throat. “You’re pregnant.”

Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Jason whips around and then freezes. He bares his teeth, ears flat against his skull. “Disappointed someone got to me first?”

“What?” Bruce stumbles back, physically repulsed by the suggestion. “No! I just… you’re a kid.”

“Kids still gotta eat.” Jason doesn’t relax. 

Bruce wants to cry, wants to bundle the boy up in bubble wrap, wants to vomit; he’s not sure what he feels. “You’re safe now.”

“Nowhere’s safe.” Jason’s ears twitch forward just slightly as he loosens his protective hold over the swollen belly under his tight tee. 

“Here’s safe.” Bruce says and then he backs out of the room. “I’m going to have Alfred find you some clothing. The towels and such are in the cabinet, help yourself to anything you need.”

Jason squints his eyes. “I’m locking the door.”

After a hesitation, Bruce settles for a nod and shuts the door. Sure enough, the lock clicks behind him. For a moment Bruce can’t do anything but stare up at the ceiling. He’s not sure what he’s gotten himself into, but he knows one thing. 

The boy can’t be safely put into a home. Newborn nekos fetch a high price regardless of breeding. No matter where he’s placed, the kittens will be torn from him. And that can’t be allowed.

With every step Bruce takes, his sense of purpose grows. They’ll get the boy settled in tonight and then tomorrow he’ll call up the senators and begin lobbying for neko rights. 

He finds Alfred and opens his mouth to let him know of the new plan, but all that comes out is, “I’m going to be a grandfather.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from El Tango De Roxanne from Moulin Rogue. That song gets me every time.


End file.
